


Pierced

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent often comes to Auguste's rooms late at night. This time, he brings a needle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pierced

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-reading PG for, uh, research purposes and Laurent's earring came to mind again. I know we mostly assume the worst, but here's something nicer. Un-beta'd and just something I wrote really quickly and didn't sit on like I normally would.

The creak was as familiar as Auguste's own heartbeat. Ever since Laurent grew old enough and bold enough to escape the nursery, he had been tiptoeing down to Auguste's rooms. Eight years later, his habits hadn't changed. He didn't come here every night. Sometimes he just slept alone and sometimes Auguste was not there. Duty called more and more often for the Crown Prince of Vere. Sometimes, lately, Laurent paid heed to the unwelcome opinions of their father and his tutors that he should not be so reliant on his older brother. Sometimes, though very rarely, Auguste had bid his guards to keep him away. Not out of malice or disregard. 

But the last thing you need when you're entertaining a lover is the presence of a younger brother who thinks you hung the moon. Auguste preferred women. That was no secret. But such was the social constructs of the Veretian court that was rather out of the question for him, unless he was to engage the services of a prostitute. Certainly, there were noble women who would take the risk on the chance that he would marry them. But they were not the character of women that Auguste liked. It was probably easier for other people to have dalliances with lovers at random, of their choosing. But for all the privilege that came with being a prince, so came restrictions. 

So, sometimes, Auguste kept Laurent away because he was not proud of himself when he took men to his bed. He wanted the boy to know a kind of love that was joyful and fun, instead of the lewd public displays of pets and the physical release Auguste sought in private with the young men who flocked to him at court. That was not too likely in Arles, but he wanted it for him all the same.

Laurent's arrival was never a surprise. He always paused outside the door, letting his weight rest on one leg, before turning the handle so slowly it made more noise than if he had opened it at a regular pace.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, from beyond the loggia. 

Auguste let out a piggish, exaggerated snore in response and was rewarded with the sound of his little brother's squealish giggle. 

“That's not kingly,” Laurent said, stern, as an attempt to come back from the giggle. 

“Good thing I am but a humble prince then,” Auguste replied, pushing back the curtain so Laurent could climb onto the bed. Their mother had a step for her dogs to get onto her bed and Auguste had obtained a similar one when Laurent was younger and smaller. The first time Laurent saw it placed on the rich blue carpet, he sneered and climbed up without assistance. 

Tonight, he sat with his legs crossed beneath him at the foot of the bed. Evidence people had been passing remarks on Laurent again and Laurent had been listening. 

“Lie down if you want,” Auguste said. 

“I prefer to sit,” Laurent replied, fixing his ruffled robe around his legs. He had a natural tendency to gravitate towards the finer things in life, at least in his wardrobe. Veretian fashion was certainly luxurious and Auguste wore the requisite costumes and wore them well. But in a meeting with a tailor or a merchant, Laurent honed in the most expensive items like a moth to a flame. Generally, it suited him. He was a prince and he certainly had the bearing. 

Here, with his delicate face and soft hair and white lace and linen bedclothes, Laurent could have passed for a pretty little girl. It wasn't quite androgyny, not to Auguste, but the reflection of his brother's innocence. 

“Aren't all those layers uncomfortable?” Auguste asked, counting three kind of lace on the cuffs alone.

Laurent blinked his golden lashes. “I don't see your point. Wasn't this evening's dinner uncomfortable?”

Laurent, because of his age and the proclivities of the Veretian court, mostly dined in his rooms. 

“It was boring. There were seven courses, five councillors, and an endless amount of worry about the Akielon situation.”

“Situation,” Laurent repeated. “That's an awfully polite way to phrase King Theomedes' barbaric campaign.”

“Well, we are a civilised society. And you do not need to worry about that.”

“Uncle says war is coming.”

“He says a lot of things,” Auguste replied. Most of which he did not agree with. Auguste knew you were meant to be respectful to elder family members. He knew that his father had come to rely on his younger brother since their mother had died and he could respect that. He hoped that when he became King, he would be able to rely on Laurent. But there were certain things about their uncle that Auguste disagreed with on a fundamental basis. He thought that if a man could be so deeply immoral in his personal habits, there was no way he could be of sound judgement in other aspects of his life.

But that was nothing to trouble Laurent with. Auguste would protect him from the seedy side of his uncle as he protected him from everything else. The boy was only eleven. He should be concerned with games and horses, not war and politics. Ruling was Auguste's lot in life not his.

“Are you afraid of war coming?” Auguste asked. 

“No.” Laurent crossed his arms in front of his skinny chest. 

“Are you...Laurent, has uncle said anything else?”

“Just to Father.”

Auguste found himself sitting up, sitting forward, and that his heart was thumping against his ribcage. His voice grew serious without him trying whereas normally it was an effort to be stern with his brother. He caught Laurent's gaze and held it.

“What did he say? Tell me everything.” It was unthinkable that their uncle would even consider treating Laurent to the same leers and worse that other boys received. They were family. He would have to go through Aleron and Auguste and that is not something he would survive. But it was the right thing to ask.

“Why are you so intense all of a sudden?” Laurent demanded. “You're not the one who isn't allowed to attend nightly dinners. You're not the one who gets shooed away every time something important comes up. They tell you everything. They tell me nothing.”

Auguste relaxed. He was worried over nothing. Laurent had no idea of their uncle's inclinations. Their uncle would never go so far as to .... Auguste couldn't even think it. Pets were different. Whores, too. The young men Auguste took to his bed when he craved companionship and release. It was like the slaves he had seen beyond the Akielon border, as abhorrent as the practise was. Born to a purpose. Princes were different.

“I tell you things, though, when they're not around,” Auguste replied. “I told you who to bet on in the pony races last year and you won all that gold.”

“That's different,” Laurent said. “You polish everything to a shine first like servants with the silverware. I'm not a baby any more. You should tell me things.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” 

“Nothing at the moment,” Laurent replied. Auguste felt his shoulders relax. His little brother could stay cocooned for a while longer. “I want you to do something for me.”

Maybe Auguste relaxed too soon. “What is it?”

Laurent dropped a small satin purse onto the quilt. It fell too lightly to contain coin so it caused a little tug at Auguste's heart. These were the kind of things that made Laurent a sweet, sheltered boy. He thought nothing of carrying his possessions in a silk purse embroidered with flowers when most boys his age would rather shove things in their pockets or only carry swords in attempts to heighten their masculinity. 

Children should be children. 

But quiet, bookish boys could be eaten alive by stronger, louder young men. Auguste knew, without being conceited, that part of Laurent's unwavering admiration for his younger brother was due to his excellence at the physical things that held no interest for Laurent. He also knew, that when he was Laurent's age, he would have ran right past a boy like that and it was only his personal sense of right and wrong that would stop him from pushing him over.

Most people in Arles, nobles and commoners alike, did not share Auguste's tendency towards goodness.

“Aren't you going to show me?” Auguste nudged Laurent with his foot. Laurent let the contents tumble onto the bedcovers – a bottle, a needle and a jewel – and he was gone so red you would think he had revealed some illicit contraband. This was not a new request, but it was the first time Laurent had petitioned him directly.

“Father says it's vulgar,” Laurent said. “It's not fair! Everyone wears jewellery. Chelaut's grandsons are younger than me and they have both ears pierced.”

“Are they back from Arran?” It would be good for Laurent to have playmates. Auguste thought that one of the southern noblemen had a son about Laurent's age. Maybe he could spend some time here. If Akielos invaded, as they had threatened, everyone would want to get their children north. 

“No.” Laurent glared. “Stop distracting me. It won't work. You know they've been gone since Mother died and --” Their uncle returned. “I got new a tutor that they couldn't keep up with.”

“Maybe when you're older,” Auguste said. 

“I'm not a baby,” Laurent said, pouting like one. “Everyone wears jewellery. Even the pets.” Clearly, the boy did not see how that made it vulgar. But he wasn't wrong. The nobility here all draped themselves in gold and precious stones in ostentatious displays of wealth. Auguste had his circlet crowns and his signet ring he wore when necessary and another that had been a gift from his mother.

He did not like to decorate himself like someone who had just made their first fortune. He felt that royals should set themselves apart and hoped Laurent would feel the same.

“We shouldn't disobey Father,” Auguste said and it was clear from the lightening of Laurent's expression that he understood Auguste was not saying no. 

“You have your ear pierced.”

“But I do not wear earrings,” Auguste replied. “Once, during training, I saw a boy's earlobe ripped all the way through.” He shuddered, for effect. “There was so much blood, Laurent.”

“Luckily, I am not allowed to anything but the most basic self-defense training anyway.”

“That's all you wanted to do.”

Laurent, aged eleven, dismissed his older brother and future king with one flick of his hand. “I want you to do it for me,” he said. “You need to sterilise the needle and push it through. That's all.”

“And you wish to wear that?” Auguste glanced at the gleaming sapphire stud Laurent dropped on the quilt. It would match his eyes, Auguste supposed. But he did not like the idea of Laurent drawing attention to himself like that. His exceptional looks already gained enough admiration and there were plenty of people at court who would leech onto a sheltered young prince for their own personal gain.

Laurent shrugged. “It's a nice colour. It looks expensive.”

“That's not an answer.” Auguste held the earring up to the lamplight. It shone like the evening sky did in high summer. It was too much for a boy like Laurent. “Where did you even get it?”

“I swapped my old saddle for it with one of Jeurre's nephews. It was a gift from a suitor and it did not match his colouring at all.”

“What do you know of suitors?” Auguste asked.

Laurent wrinkled his nose. “Nothing, which is how I like it. Did you know one of the noblemen tried to arrange a betrothal with a daughter from Vask and his son? She's only twelve. That's disgusting.”

“The age or the idea of marriage?” 

“Both,” Laurent said. “That's why you're going to have the heirs and I'm going to be one of your ambassadors.”

“To where?” Auguste asked, easily falling into the familiar conversation. “Maybe you can broker peace with Akielos. There's no daughters but Theomedes has two sons.”

“Yes, Kastor the bastard and Damianos the heir. I would rather rot here than breathe the same air as either of them,” Laurent said, sharp beyond his years. 

“But that doesn't disgust you.”

“They are Akielons.”

“They are men,” Auguste teased and Laurent went red.

“Stop changing the subject.”

“This is your last chance to convince me, brother. Put that razor-sharp mind to work. Pretend you're facing the council.”

“We're family, though,” Laurent grumbled. “And...I just like it, all right? I never get to decide anything. Father won't let me grow my hair out. The tutor says I can't read fiction any longer. The chamberlain said my preferred fabric for my winter cloak was too expensive and Mother is...” His voice cracked and Auguste understood. 

Princes had luxury, privilege and often just as much freedom as a songbird in a gilded cage. You were not yourself only, you belonged the entire kingdom. And even common children tried to carve their own identity. 

“All right,” said Auguste. “Pass me the needle.”

Laurent bit his bottom lip and pushed his possessions across the bedspread. “Don't trick me,” he said, then, as Auguste had another idea and climbed off the bed. He saw Laurent watch him, as he often did when he thought Auguste wouldn't notice, as if he was puzzling out the fact of Auguste's being and if he would ever look like that.

Auguste would lie if he asked. Even as a youngster, he had been sturdy and Laurent was slight. He would have to work at athleticism and so far showed no sign of an outdoor disposition. Auguste rifled through his drawers until he found what he was looking for – a simple gold earring that would blend in with Laurent's hair instead of standing out.

“We use this,” he said, showing the earring to Laurent. He tested tested the sharpness of the needle on the tip of his finger and a bead of blood oozed out. Laurent watched that, too, with the same expression as when he watched Auguste train with swords. 

“It's adequate, I suppose,” Laurent said. Then, with a wicked smile : “And it may take father longer to notice. They say you have to leave it in all the time at first while the hole heals.”

Auguste sighed, and held the needle under the flame to sterilise the metal. “We should really numb your ear first.”

“With what?” Laurent asked. “Besides, I don't mind a little pain.”

“Don't flinch.” Auguste approached with the needle and Laurent pulled his head out of reach. “That is is the opposite of what I told you to do. And I was simply looking. I can make a mark with ink first.”

“Sorry.” Laurent clenched his fists and bit down his lip again. 

“Which ear?”

“What one do you have pierced?” 

“Left.”

“Left, then,” Laurent said, with another feint at casual authority that made Auguste smile. Chances were, Laurent would flinch again next time Auguste approached and he really didn't want to be responsible for stabbing the young Prince of Vere in his rosy cheeks with a stolen sewing needle. 

He sat back against the headboard and put a pillow on his lap. 

“Lie down,” Auguste said. “Let's see if that can't keep you still.” 

Laurent complied, pressing his cheek to the silken pillowcase. Auguste brushed his little brother's hair behind the shell of his ear, thinking of how old Laurent was getting and these moments would never come again. He ought not to be coddling him. But he could not fathom a world where he did not protect him.

Auguste could best any man in a sword fight. He had nerves of steel with a weapon in hand. But he had to will his fingers steady with a needle near his baby brother's ear.

“You're sure?”

“Thank you, I am.” 

Auguste pushed the needle through the tender flesh and Laurent tried very hard not to react. He didn't fool Auguste. There was pain all over his face and all Auguste could do was act fast and finish quickly. He slid the needle back out, ignoring the ooze of blood that came with it, and swiftly wiped the little wound with alcohol. Laurent cried out, and Auguste held his brother with one firm hand used the other to insert the little gold earring. 

“Was that so terrible?” Auguste asked, wiping away one last drop of blood. 

“No,” Laurent said, weakly. He tried to sit up and swayed. His porcelain skin had taken on a deathly tone and Auguste thought he may be about to cause his precious little brother to faint. 

“Stay,” said Auguste, ushering Laurent to rest against one of the many pillows at the head of his bed. He fetched a goblet of water and polished hand mirror. “Here,” he said, lightly. “Why don't you admire my handiwork.”

“A gilded frame means nothing if the portrait is not pretty,” Laurent replied, as he angled the mirror to properly examine his new earring. “It's...”

“Do you like it?” Auguste asked. “I can take it back out.”

“No.” Laurent set the mirror down. “Leave it.”

There was a silence. Auguste thought how his younger brother was one of the few people he could be quiet around – he didn't have to play the role of future king. He could just be.

“You can stay,” Auguste said, after a while. “If you wish.”

“Father and uncle say...”

“What do you want?”

“I'd rather bleed on one of your pillows than mine,” Laurent said. Then, when Auguste thought he had fallen asleep, he spoke again. “They were talking about you,” he said. “Father and the councillors.”

“Everyone talks about me,” Auguste said, desperately trying to ignore the new tone in his brother's voice.

“You'll lead the army if Akielos invades.”

“Yes,” Auguste said. “That is my duty. I'll stop them getting anywhere near you. Besides, I'm a good soldier. I won't get hurt.” Certainly, he was better at leading men than navigating the murky waters of court politics. 

“I don't want you to go,” Laurent said.

“I know. But it's the right thing. Anyway, there's no guarantees. We may secure a new alliance before that happens.”

“Vask don't care about us. Patras is aligned with Akielos. And Kempt...”

Kempt, their mother's homeland, withdrew support after her death. Auguste hoped to re-secure it. They shared blood, after all. And he did want to get married.

“There are princesses in Kempt,” Auguste said. “We might make a new alliance.”

“Oh,” said Laurent. 

“Oh?” 

“Do you want to get married?”

“Yes,” Auguste said. “To the right woman.” Or for the right reason. 

“If you have children of your own --” Laurent broke off. “You'd have to have sex with a wife for that to happen.”

Auguste laughed. “That's one of the perks, I believe.”

“I'd have to stay away and ... you would like that? With a wife. A woman.”

“They are not a foreign species,” Auguste replied. “It's natural. When you're old enough. Or with boys, when you're old enough.”

“Well,” Laurent sniffed. “I suppose if it would prevent a war.”

Auguste ruffled his hair. “Even if it wouldn't, brother.”

“You're not meant to talk like that.”

Auguste was joking. And he figured someone had to talk about these things with Laurent. He'd have to be able to hold his own among men who traded in rough talk. He had to learn that physical intimacy could happen outside of the cold contacted exchanges among pets or the furtive fumblings of common folk. 

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“It's taboo.”

Auguste grinned. “There are ways around that.”

“I'm going to sleep. Goodnight,” Laurent said. “And, Auguste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For the earring.”

“You're welcome,” Auguste said, and more words rushed up his throat. “No matter who I marry. No matter what the Akielons do. I'll always be here for you, Laurent.”

“To puncture me. How delightful.”

“No,” said Auguste. “Just here.”


End file.
